


you and me

by bruises



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Blood, Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Comfort/Angst, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Fluff, Getting Together, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Slow Build, Stargazing, Worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-02 19:26:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6579322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruises/pseuds/bruises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff doesn't know how he feels about Punk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> starts just before wm 25.

Jeff rolls over in his bed for the fourth time. A sigh escapes his lips as he brushes the hotel sheets off of his body. He sits on the mattress and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“Shit,” Jeff whispers, seeing the clock on the wall. It’s four a.m. and he has training first thing in the morning.

It wouldn’t be Jeff’s first sleepless night (and it probably won’t be his last). He decides to pull on a shirt and some shoes and head upstairs. As soon as the cold air hits his skin, Jeff tucks his shaking hands into the pockets of his shorts and keeps walking. He makes a mental note to wear extra layers next time.

After a few minutes, Jeff reaches the roof of the hotel. He breathes in the crisp night air and takes a look around. The sky is a dark purple colour and the street lights don’t offer as much light as Jeff would like.

Jeff turns another corner and continues to fumble with the cigarette and lighter in his pocket. He goes to take them out, but puts them back when he sees a shadowed figure sitting on the ground.

“Jeff?” The person says, looking up at him.

When his eyes fail to adjust in the poor lighting, Jeff steps forward. “Punk? I haven’t seen you in months. How are you?”

He doesn’t hesitate to sit down next to Punk. Jeff takes his hand out of his pocket and thanks himself for leaving the cigarette tucked away.

“Cold,” Punk laughs. “Bored, anxious, I guess. What are you doing up here?”

Jeff smiles and wonders how long Punk’s been on the roof. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I would check out the roof. It’s not great.”

“Mmm, I agree. I can barely see a thing,” Punk says. “You’re not tired after your match with Jackson tonight?”

He shakes his head and looks down at the concrete. It’s uncomfortable. “I wish I was; I have training in the morning.”

Punk smirks. “Gotta love those morning workouts.”

“When do you train?” Jeff asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“At night, usually. On a good day, I don’t get to sleep until two,” Punk explains.

“And on a bad day?”

He watches as Punk looks up at him. Harsh purple light decorates his face; his eyes, his nose, his lips. A strip of medical tape lies across his brow bone. Jeff watches as Punk hesitates.

“Well,” Punk says, stretching his arms. “Here we are.”

Jeff doesn’t know what to say; he feels like he’s overstepped his boundaries. In the back of his head, Jeff bounces the thought of leaving Punk up here alone. Maybe he could go back to sleep if he shut his eyes tight enough.

Punk seems to notice his unease. “Hey, Jeff, don’t worry about it.”

He smiles at Punk. The moonlight catches his lip ring, Jeff wonders how long he’s had it for. He thinks back to the lip piercing he had gotten a few years back. It was nice for a little while but things grew messy whenever his lip got knocked in the ring.

“You had a ladder match, right?” Jeff prompts. “How’s your back doing?”

Punk sighs and shakes his head. “Honestly, it’s killing me.”

Jeff watches as Punk lies himself out on the concrete.

“Hmm, you should give this a try, Hardy. The stars are pretty neat,” Punk says, propping his hands behind his head.

He doesn’t have anything else to do, so Jeff lies down beside Punk and looks up at the night sky.

Luckily, the poor lighting works in their favour. As the stars light up the dark sky, Jeff is reminded of being at home. Of lying in his backyard for hours on end, watching and waiting, as if something interesting is going to happen.

“Do you know anything about stars, Punk?” Jeff asks. His eyes continue to search the sky for answers.

Punk turns his head to look at him. “Nope.”

Jeff looks at Punk and rolls his eyes. What did he expect from Punk anyway? With a sigh, Jeff turns away and tries to keep his focus on the stars above him rather than Punk breathing beside him.

In the dark, Jeff’s hands travel down to is pocket. He feels the forgotten cigarette through the fabric and suddenly, his chest aches. Jeff bites his lip and wonders if he could sneak off to the other side of the roof and light it.

He finds himself wondering why he even _cares_ about what Punk thinks. He decides that he _doesn’t care_ and gets up from the concrete.

“Where you off to?” Punk asks. He looks up at Jeff, but he doesn’t move from his spot on the ground.

Jeff shrugs and lets out a breath of air. He lies. “I’m going to head back to my room.”

“You should’ve said so,” Punk says.

He stands up and extends his hand to Jeff. Jeff doesn’t know what to do, so he grips Punk’s hand. He feels his stomach stir as they shake hands. Jeff doesn’t think much of the stomach butterflies; he’ll overthink that one in the morning.

“It’s like, six now,” Punk says. He stretches his arms and continues. “If you feel like training later on, you know where to find me.”

Jeff nods. “Yeah, of course.”

Before Punk can say anything else, Jeff turns away and heads back to the staircase. The steps are made of steel but the railing is flimsy. Jeff could break it if he wanted to.

He closes his door quietly and slips out of his shoes. With minimal effort, Jeff gets back under the blankets and tries soak up the little comfort that they offer.

He starts to feel guilty for leaving Punk on the roof without saying goodbye, but they’re barely friends. As Jeff’s eyes grow heavy, he thinks about a lot of things. About his past with Punk (or lack of), about the invitation Punk gave him, about Punk in general.

The cigarette lies on the floor, forgotten.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really excited to write this!!


	2. Chapter 2

With his lips pursed around the cigarette, Jeff inhales deeply. His elbows rest against the edges of the window as he peers outside to admire the sun. Its glow warms his skin - like Punk’s hands had when they touched the previous night. He thinks about Punk’s lip ring glinting against the moon and wonders if it does the same thing in the sun.

Jeff puts his cigarette out and shakes Punk from his thoughts. His bare feet pad across the cold floorboards as he makes his way to the bathroom. He catches his reflection in the mirror, which draws his attention to the faded strands of hair framing his face.

As he splashes his face with cold water, Jeff makes a mental note to buy some hair dye next time he’s out shopping. He brushes his teeth with his usual extra-strong mint toothpaste to distract from the scent of tobacco.

Once he’s done, Jeff changes into his workout clothes and heads to the hotel’s gym. It’s not a far walk, but he manages to bump into Dean as he’s exiting the elevator.

“Heading to the gym?” Dean prompts, standing beside the elevator doors.

Jeff nods as he puts his hands into his pockets. “You just come from there?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. He wipes his arm across his forehead and looks at Jeff. “Watch out for Punk; he’s been at it for _hours_.”

Jeff quirks an eyebrow at him. “Is he alright, Ambrose?”

He watches as Dean shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know man, I didn’t talk to him.”

“That’s okay,” Jeff says. “I’ll see you around.”

Dean gives him a small smile before walking into the elevator. As the doors close, a shiver runs down Jeff’s spine. He considers taking the stairs back to his room, but Punk invited him to train. The least he can do is show up; if things go sideways, he can always leave early.

Jeff walks into the small gym and sees Punk throwing punches at the punching bag in the corner. Panic seers through his chest when he sees that the medical tape across Punk’s eyebrow is lit up bright red.

As Jeff walks closer to Punk, he notices that Punk isn’t wearing any gloves and _his hands aren’t even taped up._ Jeff dumps his bag and runs over to Punk. His eyes grow wide; there’s blood _everywhere_.

“Punk,” Jeff says, his voice just above a whisper. “What happened?”

Punk doesn’t seem to hear him; he just keeps punching as if Jeff wasn’t there. Jeff grits his teeth and reaches for Punk’s hands.

“Phil,” Jeff begins. “Stop it.”

He watches as Punk stumbles backwards. Jeff worries that Punk might fall, so he holds onto Punk’s hands to keep him steady. Blood smears across his blue shirt but he doesn’t care.

“What happened?” Jeff repeats. He sits Punk down on the ground and pulls a water bottle out from his bag.

“I don’t - I don’t know,” Punk says. His hands continue to tremble. His voice is weak. “One minute I was lifting weights and the next I’m punching the bag.”

Jeff nods and wraps Punk’s hands with a towel. “We should get you cleaned up.”

“You don’t have to, Jeff,” Punk sighs. “I can do it.”

“It’s fine, really,” He insists. He remembers the blood on the boxing bag, so he quickly cleans it before turning back to Punk. “I want to help you.”

Punk looks up at him; he looks like he’s about to break. “Okay, Jeff.”

Careful arms help Punk to his feet and guide him to the elevator. Thankfully, the hallways are empty and they make it back to Jeff’s room with ease. Punk sits down on Jeff’s bed and looks down at the dried blood caked onto his hands.

“Do you want something to drink?” Jeff offers.

Punk shakes his head and keeps his focus on his hands. Jeff softly places his hand on top of Punk’s and waits for his approval. Surely enough, Punk holds Jeff’s hand in his and follows him into the bathroom.

The bathroom is small but they make it work. Punk sits on the edge of the bathtub while Jeff fills the small sink with warm, soapy water. Their hands stay locked together as Jeff prepares the water.

“This might sting,” Jeff says. “I’m sorry.”

As soon as Punk slides his hands into the water, he winces. Jeff feels a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach as he rubs gently at Punk’s knuckles. _Maybe if I was there earlier this wouldn’t have happened._

“Ouch,” Punk whispers under his breath.

Jeff instantly pulls his hands out of the water and searches Punk’s face for something - anything. “I’m so sorry, Punk. Do you want me to leave?”

Once again, Punk shakes his head. “Please stay.”

Two words. It only takes two words for Jeff’s heart to shatter into a million tiny pieces. He can’t even bring himself to smile in an attempt reassure Punk. He just nods and finishes cleaning his hands in the water.

When he’s done, Jeff places some gauze atop Punk’s knuckles and then wraps them with a bandage. He drains the red water from the sink and the two of them leave the bathroom. With the door shut behind them, Jeff hopes that this will be a thing of the past.

“When I go to the gym next - when we’re at another hotel - can you come with me?” Punk asks, his voice rough.  

Jeff clears his throat. “Of course, Punk. Just swing by my room and I’ll come with you, okay?”

“Okay,” Punk says, devoid of emotion. “I’ll see you around, Jeff.”

He wants to ask Punk to stay, but his voice fails him. Punk leaves his hotel room, and Jeff is left alone to think. He sits on his bed and plays with a loose thread on his shirt. The shirt that’s covered in Punk’s blood.

Jeff shakes the shirt off and buries it in the bottom of his gym bag. He tries to comprehend Punk’s change in emotions but he just  _can’t_. It doesn’t make sense; how does Punk go from being overly confident to a shaking mess in twelve hours?

He lets out a sigh and wishes for tomorrow to hurry up. The sooner he gets out of this hotel, the better.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont know what this chapter is im sorry


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been almost four days since his encounter with Punk in the gym. Jeff hasn’t stopped thinking about him. He can’t stop thinking about Punk’s hands and the red mess _everywhere_. Once Punk had left, Jeff spent almost an hour trying to clean up the bathroom before his flight to Texas.

Today’s the day; Wrestlemania 25 is finally here. Jeff has a locker room all to himself, so he gets started on his pre-show workout. It consists mainly of planks, squats, and a hundred turns of his skipping rope.

Jeff’s ears instantly perk up the second he hears the Killswitch Engage music blaring from the arena. He pokes his head out of the locker room, to see Punk running down the hall to stadium.

“Hey Punk!” Jeff calls out, his hands placed around his mouth. “Good luck.”

In response, Punk turns around and gives Jeff a thumbs up. Jeff that knows that it’s not much, but it’s the most contact he’s had with Punk since the incident. He’ll take whatever he can get; he makes a note to talk to Punk later tonight.

Jeff pops back into his locker room and goes back to his workout. He does a couple of jumping jacks and some stretches, but he _just can’t concentrate_. He can’t get his mind off Punk, so he turns on the small monitor in his room and sits on a chair with his chest pressed against the steel.

He finds himself chewing at his lip anxiously and mumbling _‘come on, Punk’_. Punk takes fall after fall after fall; Jeff’s wondering how he’s getting back up. Jeff feels a wave of anxiety run through his veins as Kane climbs up the ladder. He starts tapping his feet against the floor as Punk tries to kick the man off the ladder.

The second Kane falls, Jeff gets to his feet. A grin spreads across his face as Punk unhooks the briefcase and holds it high above his head. Jeff’s celebration is short-lived when he realizes that he only has fifteen minutes left before his match with Matt.

“Shit,” Jeff mutters. He rummages through his bag until he finds his face paints. He lays them out on the table in front of the mirror, and decides on three colours; white, black, and purple. With careful hands, Jeff paints a simple pattern across his face in record time.

As he’s putting the paint away and getting out his boots, Jeff hears a knock on his door. He puts the boots down and opens the door to find Punk standing in front of him.

“Hey,” Punk says, a smile spread across his face. The briefcase is clutched in his taped hands (that seem to be healing well). “Thanks for the good luck; it worked.”

They walk into the middle of the locker room, where Punk sits down on the chair in front of the monitor.

“You’re welcome,” Jeff nods. “I got really scared when Kane started climbing up. I thought he would have taken you down when he fell.”

Punk hums in response. “Me too; I’m glad he didn’t.”

Jeff looks up at the clock; five minutes. He reaches for his boots once again and begins to buckle them up. There’s a silence between the two - Jeff wonders if he should speak up and ask Punk about his knuckles. He does.

“How are your hands?” Jeff asks, his voice soft and full of concern.

Punk looks up at him and rolls his shoulders. “They’re alright. Thanks for helping me out the other day, I appreciate it.”

“It’s all good,” Jeff says. “I’m always here if you need someone to talk to - I’m here for you.”

With less subtlety than he had hoped, Punk gets up from the chair and walks up to Jeff. Their eyes meet at the same level, making their lack of height difference clearer.

“You’re on next,” Punk states. His eyes stay fixed on Jeff’s features; the paint, his eyes, his lips.

Jeff nods, unable to form words suddenly. He can smell the mint from Punk’s gum; it tingles against his nose.

It happens quickly; one moment his eyes are focused on Punk’s lip ring. In the next, Jeff is feeling the cold metal of the piercing pressing against his lower lip and Punk’s hands on his hips.

“For good luck,” Punk tells him. “Is there paint on my face?”

Jeff nods once more and wipes the purple spots off of Punk’s nose. He looks down to find Punk’s hands still resting on his hips. He places his hands on top of Punk’s and rubs his thumbs against the skin, to remind himself that this is real.

“Find me after the match,” Punk suggests. “Maybe we can get some take-out as a celebration.”

Before he leaves, Jeff cups his hands around Punk’s cheeks and kisses him again. He can hear Matt’s theme music ringing through his ears; he needs to go. Still, Jeff holds the kiss because it’s comforting and he  _trusts_ Punk.

“For good luck,” Jeff winks. He lets his hand brush against Punk’s once last time before he leaves the locker room. “You’ve got paint on your nose again, by the way.”

Punk laughs and it makes Jeff’s stomach flip. A small panic sets in his stomach when hears his own entrance music hit. He sprints down the hall and manages to make it to the arena before anyone can yell at him.

The second he steps outside, a rush of adrenaline kicks in. Jeff’s focus is on the match ahead of him; he knows what he has to do to win. As he makes his way to the ring, the kisses from Punk only moments before give him a boost of confidence.

When Jeff steps into the ring, he looks up to see the hook that Punk’s briefcase had only been on half an hour earlier. He cracks his knuckles absentmindedly as the ring announcer introduces both Matt and Jeff.

Punk had won in this ring; Jeff is going to win too.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really happy with this chapter! should jeff win at wm? let me know what you think!  
> i'm now accepting prompts over on [my tumblr](http://jeffpunk.tumblr.com/r) feel free to send them my way!

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think!! // [find me on tumblr](http://ohfemslash.tumblr.com/)


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